


sand-filled determination

by mosaicos



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosaicos/pseuds/mosaicos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tachibana Makoto, eldest son and big brother of twins, has a massive crush on his childhood friend Matsuoka Rin, aspiring Olympic swimmer and the brightest individual Makoto ever laid eyes on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sand-filled determination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lisettedelapin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisettedelapin/gifts).



He was chasing after it.

His trainers collided heavily against the ground, a spray of sand behind his running feet. The sky stretched wide and blue—a blue that burnt and lit up in his eyes, an azure that glowed the most clear he had ever seen, etchings of white clouds merely wisps in contrast, making it iridescent, nacreous around the white edges. 

What he was chasing after was not a shadow. It was alive, it left a trail of gold and red in its wake. 

He was falling behind—

_Faster! I have to go faster!_

The beach stretched as far as the eye could see and he was running towards the horizon, where land and sky met, where he would undoubtedly catch up.

—suddenly he fell, his feet weighed down finally by the sand, and the earth gave in, draining the fine particles of sand downwards towards the darkness. He spiralled around and around, struggling to get back to his feet, but finding nothing to hold on to. It was so bright above compared to the darkness that was about to swallow him whole, a deafening roar of waves and the biting sting of salt in his green eyes.

Makoto looks up from his book, startled by a loud buzz in his pocket. Looking around himself, he tries to focus on his surroundings; cold and gray, Tokyo on a rainy day. There was no sight of the blue skies he thought he had seen, nor of a sandy beach. Umbrellas of all colours crossed the streets, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of the bus stop shelter, constricted spaces between buildings and people. 

_Did I fall asleep?_

Catching the eye of an elderly man, Makoto smiles politely, and closes his book to tuck it away inside his bag. It had been a long day full of lectures and sitting at the library working on his thesis paper. He really shouldn’t be surprised at how tired he is, at the possibility of falling asleep on his feet. It’s been two weeks of working, of late nights nursing coffee to stay awake and work a bit more on his paper. The bus would be here any time, to take him home, and with today’s progress, he had already planned on rewarding himself with an early night.

The loud buzzing again.

Pausing his music and feeling exceptionally ridiculous for spacing out so much, Makoto reaches for his phone in his trousers’ pocket and his eyebrows raise in serious concern.

There, dusting his phone, is a fine coat of sand—white sand, soft and… and warm. Further inspection of his pocket reveals that it is heavy with it. It falls from between his fingers, to the wet sidewalk, and sticks to the dark creases of his trousers. 

_—sand...?_

But on his phone, two missed calls from **Matsuoka Rin** flashes the screen on. Makoto catches on to it quick, a hyper sensitive awareness for the name, for anyone with red hair, for anything that might remind him of Rin. Yet, before Makoto can even unlock his phone or make sense of why there is sand in his pocket, he receives a text message.

>   
>  **Matsuoka Rin 18:34**  
>  are you asleep? nevermind, you don’t need to call me back. wanted to let you know i went to the beach today, it was the perfect day for it. raining all day in tokyo though, huh? don’t work too hard and don’t catch a cold.  
>  **Matsuoka Rin 18:36**  
>  make sure haru doesn’t catch a cold either.

Makoto reads the messages over for a couple of times before fumbling a reply, fingers cold against the screen of his phone, but his face warming up, as a flush spread to his chest. Perhaps he _was_ getting a cold. 

>   
>  **Tachibana Makoto 18:41**  
>  sorry! i want to talk to you if you want to call me again! i’m heading home, i’ll let haru know...

Makoto has a problem much more urgent than the mysterious sand in his pocket. 

***

Makoto likes Rin.

Tachibana Makoto, eldest son and big brother of twins, has a massive crush on his childhood friend Matsuoka Rin, aspiring Olympic swimmer and the brightest individual Makoto ever laid eyes on.

On his fourth year of university it had somehow become easier to keep in touch with Rin than anyone else. —no, if Makoto had to be honest, he knew exactly why it was easier to keep in touch with Rin. It was because, despite how ridiculously nervous he would become at the idea of sending Rin a text message, Makoto _really wanted to_. 

Some time in their second year, things had changed. 

Makoto remembers the circumstances with a weak sigh, feeling embarrassed, as he unlocks the door to his apartment. Rin had replied to his message almost instantly, and even graced Makoto with a picture of himself in the beach once Makoto had taken a seat in the bus. He saved it, among all the other pictures Rin had sent him before.

Even if things had changed in Makoto’s second year of university—things pertaining how he felt about Rin—it didn’t mean that anything changed _between_ them. They were still friends, close friends, but Makoto never thought of testing waters and crossing the line to ask if they could become something more.

How could he? Rin, so bright, so warm, so much of _everything_ wouldn’t settle for him. Rin’s eyes were set for gold, and Makoto was bronze, at most. 

Amidst his thoughts rambling over the matter for the upteenth time, Makoto doesn’t remember how he ended up sitting at the table in his small dining room, legs crossed, one arm around his waist, the other wound tight over his chest and covering his face in embarrassment. 

His phone, specks of sand on the screen, lies on the table before him, right next to where his elbow was.

“Rin…”

Makoto isn’t upset, or at least that’s one of the things he has told himself. One leg jogs anxiously on the spot, pressing a jutting ankle against the wooden floor in the process. He still thinks he has a chance, regardless of everything. He’s been polishing himself, trying to become better, trying to achieve things that would undoubtedly make Rin proud, and had managed to somehow become Rin’s to-go-to whenever he needed someone to talk to. 

It felt a little unfair, to try and become more than Haru, or even Sousuke, in Rin’s eyes. 

His phone buzzes again, the call ringtone playing and startling Makoto from his thoughts. A small smile graces his features even as he answers, already knowing who it is without having to see who the call is from.

“Yo! Makoto, are you in your apartment yet?”

It really was unfair, how bright and beautiful his name sounds, how just a simple greeting is capable of making him sit up straight and make his cheeks hurt, make his eyes focus on a blank wall and see images of places he’s never been to before.

“Hello, Rin,” or how it robs his breath, making his voice and words softer than intended.

***

It had been snowing for days when Rin finally came back to Japan, two years after having left for Australia. He had two weeks off, and it wasn’t a lot of time, but he had wanted to use said time off to spend with his family in Iwatobi—and his friends, anchored in Tokyo.

“Nice place, Makoto,” was the first thing Rin had said, grinning a wide set of sharp teeth. Makoto never remembered them like that, but, then again, he doesn’t think he had ever seen Rin smile so easily and so happily before. 

Haru was busy visiting his parents for some last-minute Christmas shopping (“Haru’s parents don’t do presents. They just buy Haru whatever he wants on the spot, and that’s what he gets for Christmas”), and the only other two who could make it—Sousuke and Kisumi—would be arriving in over an hour, their trains delayed due to the snow. 

“It’s fine, I saw Nagisa and Rei when I was in Iwatobi last weekend,” Rin speaks calmly, leaning back and stretching his legs under the kotatsu. It was a wonderful comfort given to Makoto by his parents, and Makoto’s childlike giddiness at its usefulness was impossible to go unnoticed. “I’ve seen Haru the most in swim meets, and Kisumi tagged along with Sousuke this summer when he came to visit me in Australia.” 

Rin nudged Makoto’s arm, eyebrows raising playfully, and pulled up one end of the kotatsu for Makoto to get in, too. 

“You’re the busiest, turns out,” Rin teases, as Makoto sat beside the redhead, arranging the warm blanket and leaning his weight behind himself, onto his flat hands against the floor. The physical distance between himself and Rin was minimal, but the weight of two years without seeing each other was an obvious pitfall between them. 

Makoto, smiling politely, turned his eyes to Rin. 

“Apparently.” 

He is painfully aware of how awkward he sounds, and of how difficult it is to put into words just how happy he is to see Rin again after so long—and to actually _have_ Rin’s attention just for himself, for at least an hour, and it is something he wishes he had gotten a warning for. 

It didn’t seem to deter Rin, whom very casually turned over towards his bag, with a soft “oh, right,” and brought out a small box. He presented it to Makoto, passing it over on the table. Makoto’s surprise, clear on his face, flushed Rin’s face as the redhead very happily expressed in English “Happy Christmas!” 

Makoto studied it, the contents clear, _Russel Stover: Fine Assorted Chocolates_ , a red ribbon over the white box’s plastic cling film a surprisingly very ‘Christmas’ theme for all its simplicity. Makoto, unused to presents, gaped at it for a while before turning to the other. 

“—don’t worry, you don’t need to get me anything. I know we’re all strapped for cash.”  


Rin was one of the few who was better off than the rest of them, but not by much. University was about learning to budget one’s money the hard way, and Makoto’s idea of Christmas presents for his friends was a coupon to eat out, 15% off on their food. 

“Aaah! And don’t tell Haru nor Sousuke! I didn’t bring them shit! —do you know how hard it is to get something for them? Ah, whatever! Let’s not even mention Kisumi…” 

Surprisingly, Rin seemed flustered for the first time since he had arrived, frantically waving his arms about and pulling at his own hair nervously, anything to make it like it was really no big deal that Rin had gotten Makoto chocolates in the first place. 

“Rin—” 

“I just remembered that you like chocolates, and my friends in Australia say these are really good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them here in Japan, so you’ve probably never had them, right?” 

“Rin, let me—” 

“They weren’t that expensive anyway!” and now Rin’s voice took on a more defensive tone, deep-toned in his growing frustration and apparent embarrassment, ignoring Makoto’s attempts to say something. “Your birthday was not long ago too, so! It makes total sense, yeah!” 

Makoto gives up trying to say anything, and instead laughs into the box, held up in front of himself. 

“Huhhh? What are you laughing about, oi, you bastard, I’ll take them back!” 

Silence followed, as Makoto stopped laughing (but not smiling), and very carefully put the box down. He undid the ribbon around the box, and carefully peeled the cling film off, scratching at the glued creasings, unboxing six beautifully decorated chocolates; dark brown with various shapes, white chocolate patterns on a few. Rin watched attentively, leaning forward to inspect if his gift to Makoto was up to standard. 

Makoto had put a circular chocolate in his mouth first, slowly tasting it and doing his best not to bite into it, to savour the flavour; there was nothing on the box that told him what it was. 

After a moment, Makoto perked up, and turned to Rin. “Coconut.” 

Despite the face that Rin made at the flavour, Makoto had not allowed himself the time to contemplate what to make of said reaction, instead reaching out to close the distance between them, enveloping a surprised Rin in a hug. His arms were warm around Rin’s back and shoulders, and Rin smelled different, his cologne perhaps one he had bought in Australia. Rin had hesitated, before wrapping his arms around Makoto’s sides, permitting the embrace to last for as long as Makoto wanted it to, and Makoto felt Rin rest his head against one of his shoulders. 

“Just this once,” he heard Rin say, into Makoto’s shirt, “because we haven’t seen each other in a while.” 

“Two years.” 

“—dammit, Makoto, message me more, alright?” 

The barked command, out of context to their situation, startled Makoto into laughing, finally pulling back from the other, hands settling awkwardly back onto his own lap as Rin held on to Makoto’s grey sleeves, around his wrists. 

“Promise. Merry Christmas, Rin.” 

__

***

Things had spiralled from there. Messages had increased in volume, in confidence of topics (not so much about the weather or random cat sightings anymore, though there were plenty of those), and the occasional phone call became a more regular scheduled occurrence. Makoto couldn’t complain, seeing how he had spent so long harbouring and nursing feelings for Rin that surpassed any other middle school crush he might have had.

He doesn’t know what did it, but distance does make the heart grow fonder. And so, considering that, it was best to try and balance what he felt with what Rin really needed right now: a considerate friend, if nothing else. 

Sometimes, though, he left himself dream a little more. 

Makoto would interpret some of Rin’s words and well wishes as something more, tried to imagine that he was the only one Rin ever messaged “good night” to late at night, or the first one to be called when Rin had news to share.

“I miss you,” is what Makoto found himself saying quite often to the phone, while talking to Rin. His heart thrummed in excitement, whenever Rin replied _I miss you too_ in return. It didn’t have to mean anything, it probably _didn’t_ mean anything, but at the time it was everything for Makoto. Rin never questioned it, nor tried to have Makoto define what exactly he meant by it, so that much was enough.

“—but don’t change the subject. Sand?”

A bubble burst in front of Makoto’s eyes.

“Oh— ... hn, yeah, actual sand…” his words were careful, distracted as he was, lifting his free hand up to touch the pocket of air where he had seen a literal bubble float by. Was he going crazy? Looking down, drops of soapy water made small blemishes on the polished wood.

“Maybe the person who used the wash machine before you went to the beach. Just your luck.”

Rin always had logical, reasonable, and quick explanations for everything. It was a relief, to have someone so smart and considerate looking after him.

“Or perhaps it was a sign that you went to the beach today. How much of a coincidence is that? I—mean, I guess you’re right, it’s just…”

Makoto’s voice quieted down as Rin’s rose up in time for a reply.

“More romantic that way?”

Silence came, unequivocally, and Makoto’s face flared red. It was lucky this was a phone call, and not face-to-face, or a Skype call. Something about what Rin said made him feel bad—silly, upset. He hadn’t seen Rin in person in two years, again, and just because they talked more it didn’t mean that anything between them had changed. If he could be there for Rin, for support, to ensure he would be happy, that much should be enough.

“—Makoto, hey.”

“Rin, I’ve got to go. Let’s talk tomorrow,” because it’s late, and Makoto knows Rin goes to bed early, and Makoto’s thinking too much all on his own.

***

When Makoto lied down in bed for the night, he wasn’t too convinced about Rin’s sand theory, nor did he find out where the bubbles came from. Perhaps he should be afraid, fearing something supernatural, but so much happened in a day, he couldn’t afford to pin the blame on one particular thing. In the end, perhaps he was just extremely tired.

Looking up at the ceiling of his darkened room, Makoto counts his breathing, in an attempt to doze off.

He almost doesn’t feel like checking his phone, which buzzes on his bedside table, but he stretches and does so anyway, finding a few messages from Rin, mixed up with a few others from his mates in class.

>   
>  **Matsuoka Rin 21:34**  
>  sorry if i said some weird shit. hope you don’t think i’m an asshole. night.  
> 

Makoto falls asleep, an unsent message drafted, eyes on Rin’s name, phone in hand. 

***

Sand was everywhere; tucked between his fingers, making his legs heavy, corralling around his neck. He barely managed a mouthful of air before sand rained down onto his face, stealing him of the air he had just managed to take in, getting in his mouth and nose, causing him to sputter and cough. He tried to get up, to sit, open his eyes, but he found his body unable to fulfill those commands.

_Swim._

Afraid, of drowning, he put all his strength in lifting one arm and move it back, like he were swimming backstroke in the pool, and then the other. It took him no time to carve a path through the sand, under it, even when air was scarce and his lungs felt so dry—so dry, that he was sure he would die.

_Look up._

And finally, his eyes opened at the command.

From a very small opening above him he saw it: bright blue skies, gold and red going around and around in circles, very, very far above him. Sand kept streaming down, just like before, but at least this time not onto himself. _It must be a dream_ , Makoto thought, sitting up, sand dusting off his front and onto his lap. He could only see his knees rising over the sand. Whenever he moved his head, sand seemed to stream from his hair in cascades. _Where am I?_

Aside from the white sand, everything was pitch black. The only way he managed to see in front of himself was because of the light coming from the opening high above him. Makoto waited, staring, expecting something to happen, but nothing did.

_Hello?_

The sand kept pouring down, and he felt more and more anxious. If this was a dream, shouldn’t something happen? Shouldn’t he be waking up? Up, to his feet he got, and was surprised at the sudden appearance of a red string in front of his face. He followed it up with his eyes, at the opening, where what he was trying to catch was no longer going around in circles.

Instead, a shadow, looking down. 

_Makoto!_

And the sand began to rush out from under his feet at his name, the world rumbling around him, unhinged, as he quickly began losing his balance. With nothing for it and afraid of sinking down further, he held on to the red string—ribbon, really, silky and smooth in his hand.

***

Makoto wakes up to birds chirping outside and sunlight streaming through his window. He doesn’t remember what it was exactly, but he’s sure he’s had a nightmare. He’s sweating, his clothes and hair damp, sticking to his skin. He feels sick, his throat unbelievably parched.

Sitting up in bed, Makoto stops suddenly as he stares out the window. An ocean, draped in oranges and gold, a city so unlike Tokyo unfurling before his eyes. He didn’t live close to the ocean anymore, nor to any small beach found in the bay area of Tokyo. He looks down.

There is sand, all over himself and his sheets. He brushes his hair with a hand and watches as sand falls down onto his lap. —white sand, just like the one from his dream, like the one he found in his pocket. 

His eyes widen.

Strapped around his left arm is a wide, red ribbon, silky and smooth, loosely holding onto him. 

His phone buzzes, and it’s not his alarm. 

Rin is calling him on the phone, and Makoto’s eyes snap open suddenly. He’s _really_ awake now. 

Having cornered himself and having managed to tangle his bedsheets around his legs, Makoto makes a gargantuan attempt to escape his duvet prison, reaching for his phone and pressing the call button. He manages to fumble enough to press the ‘speaker’ button.

“Makoto, hey—”

What greets Rin is an exceedingly unattractive sound, between a yawn and a groan, as Makoto tries to push himself up to his knees and ends up falling backwards on the mattress, making his phone jump.

“Hey! What’s going on? Are you okay?”

His throat feels parched.

“I’m fine! I just… woke up,” he’s trying to make sense of himself, between the double layering of realistic dreams he just had. What could any of them mean? Sand, red and gold, recurring elements. It’s not a coincidence, is it? Rin says something that Makoto misses entirely, having sat up and lost his hearing for a bit with a stretch of his back. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s fine. I should be apologising, but I didn’t think you wouldn’t be up by eleven. Good thing you’re mostly just working on your thesis, yeah?”

Makoto rubs at his face with his hands, pulling at it comically, and pushing his hair back. He’s not listening to what Rin is saying, not really. 

“...hey, Makoto,” Rin’s voice sounds far off, and Makoto looks up in surprise, from under his hands. His phone reads that the call had been going for at least seven minutes. Rin’s worried. “You don’t sound too good. Take the day off, relax. You’re probably stressed out from your paper.”

“Sorry, I had a weird dream…”

He hears Rin laugh, but not mocking. Relieved, more like. 

“So you’re all dazed out. I get it. Seriously though, take the day off. You deserve it.”

Makoto has to muster something more than courage, to tell himself that not working on schoolwork one day was okay; that listening to what Rin said was fine; treating himself was a good thing once in a while. Especially if Rin was the one who suggested it.

“Rin,” Makoto held onto his phone, put it off speaker and against his ear; his feet touched the floor, cold. It was raining today again, concrete and mud, iron and glass outside. “You called me, so, uhm, did you need something…?”

It’s not that Rin’s calls were unusual, but today’s was an exceptionally early one for all that they usually converse.

Rin was quiet for a moment, until an embarrassed tone set in as a response, sounding almost hesitant, like there was something more he wanted to dare himself to say. “I just wanted to talk to you. —I’ll call you later to check up on you.”

There was a smile in Makoto’s response. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to! Geez, talk about a stubborn guy…”

Makoto looked up, to the wall, and imagined sand churning down into a spiral, down an hourglass, except the sand particles were stars, creating constellations as they spread out into the darkness. Was it wrong that Rin always made him feel special? 

“Please call me again later,” he asks, quietly, sounding needy (on purpose) and feeling warm (as always, when it comes to Rin).

***

Makoto was only making noises at the phone, worrying Rin on the other side of the line. He sat up and stood from his chair in the library, grabbing his bag to get up and go—go to…

There’s no way he could reach Makoto, not from all the way in Sydney.

His eyes keep scanning the website open on the computer screen before him, even as Makoto finally speaks coherently, even as Rin gets annoyed at him for making him say more than what Rin ever intends to say without getting embarrassed.

_Book flight?_

The button flashes. 

He’s worried—worried and nervous, a mix so dangerous it would make Rin throw up if he had a weaker constitution. 

“Please call me again later,” Makoto asks, softer than his usual self, and Rin does believe he is weaker than what he attempts to appear as. Makoto never asks for things, but Rin wants Makoto to ask for everything and anything from him.

“I will.”

Rin hangs up, letting Makoto go, and frustratingly cancels the flight he could have booked. It would be too much. Makoto sounded put off by Rin’s sudden call anyway.

 _Whatever_ , he thinks, slinking back on his chair and staring at the computer’s screen, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand.

He’s not half the adult he wants to think he is, at twenty-two years of age.

***

The Christmas party at Makoto’s had not been a big one. Sousuke and Kisumi managed to arrive before Haru did, to the point where they all thought Haru wasn’t even going to show up.

He did, eventually—with a six pack. 

None of them got too drunk to not handle themselves, but they got a lot more open and loud than usual; at least Sousuke and Haru did. It was comical, especially since they had brought out Makoto’s gaming system and they decided to play Mario Party, a game that was not doing them any favours on the friendship front. 

Makoto laughed a lot, hunched into the couch, leaning against Kisumi who did nothing but rile on Haru and Sousuke’s rivalry for stars. Rin watched Makoto, more so than the show his friends were putting up, pressing his head against the couch and looking up; it was good to see Makoto still cheerful, still happy, after so long. 

Rin didn’t really prepare himself for missing Makoto more than what he thought he would. 

He didn’t exactly foresee seeing more of everyone else and so little of Makoto, in comparison. 

Sousuke and Kisumi left an hour before midnight, grumbling something about trains, and Haru decided he should go, too. Sousuke at least had Kisumi to keep him in place, but Makoto and Rin both agreed that they should accompany Haru as far as they could go. Seeing Tokyo late at night was, in every sense, romantic anyway; with the blanket of darkness, the quiet fall of snow, the white-blue lights in small streets an invitation for such imaginings. 

—not that Rin would openly say anything about it, especially not in front of Haru. 

“I thought you’d be going with Sousuke and Kisumi?” Makoto’s question was valid, as they walked back from the train station they had dropped Haru at. It was exceptionally cold out, and Makoto’s hands were tucked inside his jeans, whereas Rin kept his inside his coat’s pockets. 

“They don’t have a kotatsu like you.” 

“Ah, I see how it is…” 

Rin grinned, pleased with Makoto’s returning easygoing humor. 

The streets were mostly empty, allowing for the quiet Rin had predicted. They passed rails on the sidewalks, passed under white-blue street lamps that made their shadows scatter as they crunched piling snow with their boots. 

“Oh, Rin, over here,” Makoto called, turning suddenly to his right and hurrying towards a vending machine—blue and contents illuminated by a bright light, warm drinks on offer. “I want hot chocolate…” _clink, clink,_ the coins went into the slot, Makoto turning to him. “Hm… Green tea, right?”

It didn’t matter what Rin wanted because, for once, it felt nice that Makoto would know enough about him to know that hot chocolate was not something he particularly enjoyed. 

The canned drinks came out of the vending machine, warm, and Rin was happy to hold his can of tea between his hands. Makoto was actually good company, he had realised; quiet and soft spoken at the right times, open and talkative when it was necessary. Rin urged him to stop and sit by one of the railings, so that they could have their drinks together. 

“You’re a man of Tokyo now, huh? Know all the ins and outs, and where all the vending machines are.” 

Makoto laughed into a hand, nearly burning his tongue on the hot chocolate. 

“I’m guessing what things are half the time. It’s really different from home, but—I like it a lot,” growth, a future, dreams within his reach. “Though you’re one to talk. How’s Sydney?” 

Rin sipped from his canned tea, red eyes scanning back towards Makoto; he had always been curious, wanting to know more, and those curious, green eyes seemed to constantly be fixed on Rin. It wasn’t so much annoying as it was comforting, to think that someone cares enough to want to learn about him, to want to hear him talk, to hear what he has to say about whatever it is. 

At a lack of response, Makoto surprises Rin by not backing off. “Please? I would like to hear what it’s like. Haru’s been there. Sousuke and Kisumi went to visit you…” 

A pang of regret never fails to squeeze him whenever he thinks about the exact same thing Makoto had just mentioned. Would Makoto like to go to Australia to see him, too? Somehow, the thought makes him warmer than the canned tea around his hands. Rin imitates Makoto from earlier, leaning his shoulder lightly against the other, another sip from his can. 

“It’s been great. You would really like it there, Makoto,” (—Makoto hasn’t moved Rin from his position—) “with the beaches and the food. You feel so small, but so big at the same time. I’ve told you about the Sydney Opera House before, right? Well, that place…” 

And that’s the thing about Makoto; he’s always been kind, attentive, and genuinely interested in everything Rin’s ever had to say. 

***

Time has passed.

Makoto can’t figure out how four months had slipped past him without notice, and no matter how much he got done for his final thesis, it felt like he had a whole lot more to do than what he had originally planned for; it felt like he should have less things to figure out by this stage.

But today he wouldn’t worry about his paper, just for the next twenty-four hours. That’s because today is special, because today…

Today is his birthday, and Rin is flying back from Australia. 

Technically, Rin did return to Japan the previous Sunday, had gone to see his family first and make arrangements for his stay later, but Makoto feels incredibly lucky that Rin would take today to come see him. 

Nothing had changed in four months. Nothing had changed between Rin and himself, in four months. They still talked, a lot, communicated often, but that kind of thing was normal. Makoto wanted to talk to Rin—and Rin returned the favour. He was lonely, and Rin empathised, and yet, despite everything—

“Makoto!”

—Rin was still oh so lovely, the key that ignited Makoto to spur into action; to better himself, to work hard, to make him never want to stop.

“Rin!” Makoto hurries past the people at the train station, working his way towards the redhead, who bounces amidst the crowd, and looks so out of place compared to everyone else. It’s immediately clear that Rin is not part of Tokyo. Specially not with the large backpack on his shoulders.

Makoto forgot. Rin was in Tokyo for a bit, to later make a connection to go to Chiba. It was closer than Sydney, by far, but it strained Makoto’s smile. 

“Don’t make that face,” Rin laughs, pulling Makoto into a hug despite being in public; Rin’s been abroad for years, he’s not conventional at all. “It’s your birthday! What is it, twenty-three?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, except to lean into Rin’s embrace and hide his face on Rin’s shoulder. He smells the same, more chlorine washed in with his cologne, but it’s so like Rin, _this_ is definitely Rin.

“It’s my favourite birthday already,” he mutters onto Rin’s black parka, embarrassed and honest, and he doesn’t know if Rin’s heard him, but arms wrap tighter around Makoto’s back on cue.

***

There’s a difference, between Makoto noticing he liked Rin two years ago, and having sat on those feelings for two years. Seeing Rin then and now, in person, is incredible in how starkly contrasting it is. Makoto cannot put it into words, nor can he seem to arrange his thoughts, as he follows every single one of Rin’s movements with his eyes.

Rin’s never been one for delicate movements like Haru, but he’s not without grace. Everything Rin does—from pulling his cap off his head to loosely crossing his legs—is calculated and controlled, like a rehearsed routine, something that comes so exceedingly natural there’s no room to question any intention behind his actions.

It’s in the same way of how natural it is to hear his name fall from Rin’s lips. A practiced routine.

Rin stretches his arms and spreads them onto the back of the couch, looking around Makoto’s apartment. Makoto, for his part, sets the tea down and sits on the floor by the table. 

“I got an offer to start training with the team in Chiba. Ah, well, I really didn’t want to leave my team in Australia—it’s a really great one, but my coach said that I’d have better chances of reaching the national team this way. It made sense.”

Rin’s stories are always full of people whom Makoto can never put a face to. 

“Do you think you’ll go back to Australia some time again?”

He feels red eyes on him, and then they’re gone, as Rin leans forward to grab his cup of tea.

“Probably. Depends on how things turn out,” a pause, as he drinks, and Makoto lifts his hands to hold onto his own cup. He feels happy for Rin. “—but I’m definitely going back with you, so you have to make sure you finish your paper on time.”

Makoto smiles, aware of how needy he’s sounded before, wanting to hear from Australia so much. 

“That would be nice. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Which, perhaps, is a statement too bold to make. Makoto laughs at himself for it, even as Rin averts his eyes and clicks his tongue in annoyance, turning his head to the side. 

“Though it’s great that you’re living in Japan now. We can hang out more if you want to.”

Rin’s response is a quiet, grin of teeth.

***

Here again, on the edge of time, where the earth opens in the middle and swallows the white sand spilling down. He doesn’t visit this place as often anymore, but it’s been months of an uphill climb, against the sand, holding on tiredly to the red ribbon cutting into his skin. He’s finally made it to the top, reached an area of the beach secure and away from the drain.

He’s alone, however, with blue skies overhead and warm sand curling around his feet. The red ribbon is gone.

This world is falling to darkness, and the sky is too unattainable to reach; the sand slips through his fingers and he cannot keep it.

There’s something he’s not doing right.

—cold water washes over his feet, startling him, making him jump on the spot. It’s the ocean, blue and transparent and white foam. Seagulls snap back at him, flying above, disappearing in the white of the clouds. 

He’s not doing something right.

Makoto knows this, deep inside, when he wakes up without much prompting, eyes blinking into the darkness of his room. His feet under layers of blankets feel cold, like he had just put them in cold water. His heart aches and his chest hurts, the tears in his eyes are salty and warm, a recognition of the physicality of his pain. 

Always chasing without ever reaching his goal. All the signs are there, _have_ been there.

Something needs to change.

***

“Makoto?”

It’s not that phone calls had become scarce, nor that they had stopped texting. But Chiba was about an hour away from Tokyo by train, not a timezone and several hours on plane like Australia. Perhaps Makoto should have warned Rin that he was arriving, but the thrill he felt made him think that doing something like this, without warning, was a lot more—romantic.

“Rin! Hi! I’m glad you’re in!” 

It hasn’t been more than two months, and with Rin’s busy schedule, it really is lucky that Makoto has even made it at a time where Rin was still in his apartment.

“Hey, it’s cold out. What are you doing? Is everything okay?” Rin’s concern and confusion could not be more apparent. It had always been him, not Makoto, who initiated contact, who texted first, who called first, even if Makoto was quick to answer and pick up the phone. This kind of thing is unusual, in their usual agreement.

Makoto smiles, to dissuade the nerves building up.

“I’m great. I—wanted to see you. I hope you don’t mind?”

“That’s not something you need to ask…”

“Eh? Rin, are you angry?” There had been a grumble to Rin’s words, an annoyance that made Makoto’s courage fall back a little. 

Rin shakes his head, a wild, nervous look in his eyes, cheeks flushed. It was exceptionally cold outside, but Makoto’s breath felt warm as it escaped his mouth, in puffs of white air. 

“—come inside, I was about to make lunch.”

***

Nothing happened. Makoto’s courage faltered.

He has never minded, chasing after Rin, but it was becoming exhausting. Perhaps his dreams held some truth, to watching all his efforts be for naught, caught in a stream that blew the sand into the darkness, never to be collected again. He’s thinking too much and spending so much of his time doing so, rather than taking action. —but it requires a special kind of person to be strong enough, brave enough, to dare fight against the currents and _be_ more, _achieve_ more.

Makoto’s never felt like the gold worthy of Rin’s attention, but he thinks he’s worked enough at making himself worth a glance—worth anything Rin would be willing to give him.

Just like the white sand in his dreams, Makoto feels like he’s fallen way too deep for Matsuoka Rin, and it’s impossible to get back up.

***

Visits become a little less uncommon.

It wasn’t unusual, for Makoto to abandon his apartment in Tokyo to be at Rin’s for the day. He would wake up early and arrive in Chiba just after breakfast, and wait for Rin at the foot of the stairs. Rin had morning practice, that much was understandable. 

Sunny days during winter were thankfully not unusual in Chiba, the warmth of the nearby sea contributing to a feeling resembling closer to ‘home.’ The city was quieter though not less busy, and Rin’s neighbours already knew of Makoto enough as to offer him entry into the apartment’s lobby. Makoto wanted to wait, however, for Rin to be the one to let him in.

(He’s still chasing, but at least he’s closer to where he wants to be—with who he wants to be.)

An orange cat with white paws always makes an appearance at times like this; with Makoto sitting on the steps, it was more than likely that it would get pets and perhaps, if lucky, a treat. And Rin would turn the corner and head down the path to his apartment to this (yet, somehow, he was always surprised, no matter how much of a usual thing it had become to have Makoto there, waiting for him).

“You’re going to get sick one of these days,” Rin tends to say some days when it’s too cold out, or “You rather come here and wait instead of working on your paper, what if you fail, Tachibana? Don’t say it’s my fault,” with an air of annoyance so obviously feigned that it would cause Makoto’s lips to quirk into a smile. The result was always the same; Rin would let him in, after a push on Makoto’s shoulders to get rid of snow or falling leaves, and once inside hot chocolate was always the first thing Makoto would get as greeting.

Makoto sits at the kitchen table with his laptop open, books around him, working on his paper, while Rin thoroughly cleans the chlorine from his hair and comes back to the kitchen to prepare lunch. It’s become so domestic and so normal that at this point they don’t have to exchange too many words for the in-betweens.

It’s not unusual, either, for Rin to press his hands onto the curve of Makoto’s shoulders and lean down to see Makoto’s progress on the laptop’s screen. He lingers there, always, listening as Makoto explains with more detail what he’s done so far and how much he expects to get done by the end of the day, before Rin has to go to his classes at four. 

Makoto doesn’t hesitate, turning his head to the side to meet Rin’s eyes, his face so close to Makoto’s, when Rin calls his name. 

It doesn’t feel extravagantly wrong, either, to have this much attention from Rin.

***

“You know,” Rin starts over lunch one Friday. Makoto’s classes got cancelled due to professors being snowed in and being unable to reach campus. Rin wasn’t so lucky with his classes. “You can stay to work on your paper while I’m in class. I don’t think it’ll be easy to head into Tokyo tonight anyway.”

Makoto looks up at that, but continues eating at a fried pork cutlet on his plate, humming and nodding. He doesn’t notice that Rin is fidgeting, nervous. 

“ _You know_ ,” Rin starts again, after a few moments of silence, apparently unamused that the food on Makoto’s plate deserves more attention than he himself. “You can—stay over if you wanted to.” 

Makoto’s actions pause halfway through, green eyes turning to look up at Rin in surprise.

Right before Makoto can finish chewing and swallowing to protest against the offer, Rin heatedly continues. “You know! It’s not like it’s a big deal, anyway! You’re here all the time! So what gives, if you—decided to stay over, _you know_!” 

At twenty-three, Makoto finds that he can’t yet put into words exactly what he wants to say.

So, instead, he smiles in genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Rin.” 

Rin, muttering an ‘it’s no big deal,’ leans forward with a napkin and cleans up the crumbs of food on Makoto’s chin, while Makoto laughs at his own carelessness.

***

Makoto notices that his strange dreams with sand and the endless abyss of the unknown are not as frequent anymore. This could mean several things. For instance, he only needs to write up the concluding statement for his thesis and he’s finished with it, two whole weeks ahead of schedule.

He notices this, the abrupt end of these dreams, when he wakes up from his nap on Rin’s couch. It’s late, some time past eight, and all Makoto sees is _red_.

Rin hovers over the back of the couch, leaning forward and over Makoto. Red hair tickles his skin, and Makoto notices that the warmth on his forehead is unusual and—Rin’s face is flushed, his mouth set into an upset frown, red eyes wide and bewildered. 

“...Rin? Did you just—?”

Makoto is slow and lethargic after being woken up, and he sits up in time with Rin moving away from the couch. Makoto manages to grab hold of Rin’s wrist before he pulls away completely. 

“Rin?”

He sounds like he’s in agony, Rin’s name in his mouth soft and painful. It makes Rin stop, because it’s Makoto who is calling his name. Upon catching sight of Rin’s face, however, Makoto stops and lets go, a soft touch to his forehead, where he’s sure Rin pressed lips to.

Standing, blood strumming too loud in his ears, Makoto approaches Rin—still in his clothes from outside, still red faced, eyes solid on Makoto.

Whatever courage Makoto had been holding on to for the past several weeks resurfaces in a surreal moment; closing the distance, Makoto leans closer towards Rin, a hand crossing the expanse between them to press lightly onto Rin’s cheek, smoothing skin and hair back, and resting assured on Rin’s jawline, tense at the moment. 

Rin’s words, Makoto’s name, goes together with the hold of Makoto’s hand in Rin’s own, pulling it away and letting it rest somewhere over the centre of his chest. It was much too unbearable for Makoto, the beating siege of his heart, at their growing proximity. Their heads faced downwards, but their eyes kept connected throughout, staring at each other with no shortage of realisation on what situation they found themselves in. 

“...Rin, I—”

Makoto’s words were stopped short by a soft smile on Rin’s features, no longer panicking and nervous as he was before.

“I know, Makoto,” and that much was enough. Rin’s other arm curled around Makoto’s shoulders and brought him close, their hearts beating together, as Rin found a way to fit into the contour of Makoto’s body. “I wasn’t sure—I didn’t want to imagine that you, also…”

 _It’s too much,_ thinks Makoto, returning the embrace tightly, hiding his eyes. He wishes he could express just _how much_ this is to him, to tell Rin _everything_ , and hold on to this moment like it’s the one he’s been aiming for, all these years; like it’s the one that he’s been working towards, that Rin is the one Makoto wanted to become worthy of being with. 

“Are you crying? _Ma_ koto… knock it off…”

Rin sounds in love, Makoto notices, and laughter bubbles from him. He’s not crying, and neither is Rin. When they pull back to look at each, they’re met with bright smiles and suspiciously damp eyes—but no actual tears. _Rin sounds in love_ , and Makoto can hear it in Rin’s words and his laugh, but Makoto has to say it. He _has_ to make it clear (because otherwise, what was the point of stopping his chase, of catching up to a dream of gold and red in the first place?). Now is the time to leave the ocean of sand behind him, make the foundations concrete and strong.

“I like you, Rin, for the past four years, all I ever wanted, was…”

_To be with you._

Rin’s bright smile and flushed cheeks, jagged teeth a big grin.

It is enough.

***

Sand slips through his fingers, white and warm, fine in texture. Broken shells scratch harshly at his hands as he smooths his hand over it, caressing a fixture so familiar yet so foreign. Here, the skies are bright and blue, just like the ones he’s dreamt of at one point in his life. Here the sun burns and pricks at his skin, a casualty of summer. The waves break on the shore, loud yet peaceful.

Here, the sand doesn’t give way and throws him into a spiralling abyss.

It does, however, get sprayed into his face by an annoying red trainer. 

“Yo, Makoto!” Rin snickers as way of apology, leaning down on his haunches besides his now current boyfriend, with whom he is definitely very happy to be with for the past odd number of years. “Playing with sand? If I knew I would’ve brought you a bucket and a shovel.”

Makoto, shaking his head and cleaning up his face from any sand, pouts at Rin. “You told me to wait here.”

“I did!”

Expectantly, pleased with Rin’s happy appearance, Makoto places his hand over Rin’s collar, holding on lightly to the red strip of ribbon, smooth and silky, holding Rin’s first golden Olympic medal. Who wouldn’t be happy like Rin, overconfident and loud, coming back to Sydney to show off his golden merit to his second home? Makoto’s glad he’s come to know Sydney this way. 

“Do you like the beach here? It reminds me of home,” Rin’s quieter now, taking hold of Makoto’s hand and intertwining their fingers. Rin knows it’s been brave of Makoto to get on a plane and travel so far from home, from everything he knows, and allow Rin to be his sole guide in lands unknown. 

Casually, Makoto turns his head towards the ocean, and smiles. It’s been a few years since he graduated, since he and Rin started dating, and there still seems to be a whole lot to look forward to.

“I like Sydney for being what it is on its own. Home is home, but Sydney—Sydney is Rin’s place. I want to learn about it before comparing it to Tokyo or Iwatobi.”

That’s what Rin’s liked about the growth in Makoto. If Makoto hadn’t chased after him, hadn’t pushed and forced his way into Rin’s life when he moved to Chiba, none of this would have happened. He’s peppered Makoto’s face in kisses before, showered him in affection, grateful for his courage, reminding Makoto that he is so much more than he gives himself credit for. Makoto’s always been a good listener, and to Rin’s pleasure, he’s especially attentive to words fed with soft touches and affectionate bites. 

“I can’t wait for you to meet Lori and Russel, and Winnie,” Rin’s too excited.

“I can’t wait, either!” and Makoto indulges him, imitating the pitch in Rin’s voice, a light squeeze to Rin’s hand. 

Rin knows he had already won gold before he even jumped into the pool for 100m of butterfly, with Makoto at his side. 

Leaning in close and holding softly onto the back of Makoto’s neck, Rin forces the other to look at him and not the ocean, eyes steering away from a far off Japan, and onto him, red eyes, bright and determined. “I love you,” Makoto whispers, smiling, and Rin stamps the sentiment right back onto Makoto’s lips with his own, red and gold between them.


End file.
